“I’M TRYING. ARE YOU FROM NORTHSHIRE?”
“I was born here, and spent most of my summers here as a child.”
“Is that a hint?”
“Yeah. Sort of. It was a long time ago.”
She ducked to avoid a low-hanging branch, jiggling the baby, who slept on. “You were a lifeguard at the town pool. You and your friend Hunter Boggs.”
A murky memory of a long-legged red-haired kid diving into the town pool over and over again drifted in and out of his mind.
“I was fourteen.” She laughed again. “I had the biggest crush on you.”
“Me?” He and his best bud had scored the sweet jobs as joint lifeguards at the Northshire Center Pool the summer after graduation. But as always Hunter was the one all the girls swooned and stuttered and sillied over. Hunter was the gold to Troy’s silver. They’d competed against each other for everything since they were freshmen—from grades to goals to girls. For every A Troy won, Hunter won an A-plus. For every hockey goal Troy scored, Hunter scored two. For every girl Troy dated, Hunter dated three.
“Most of you girls went for Hunter.”
“Not all of us.” She looked at him, her blue eyes lit with mischief. “He was so full of himself. Always checking himself in every rearview mirror when he walked across the parking lot.”
“That’s true.” Troy laughed. Hunter never saw a mirror he didn’t like. “You were a very observant fourteen-year-old.”
She shrugged. “Nothing to do but swim and read and watch the cool kids.”
“Cool.” Troy shook his head. “I was not so cool. But Hunter was.”
“Only in his own mind.”
He frowned. She sounded like his estranged wife. Madeline, the prettiest girl at the pool. Hell, the prettiest girl in the county. Who shocked everyone when she chose him over Hunter.
“Didn’t you marry Madeline Renard?” Mercy asked, as if she could read his mind.
“Yes.” The only time he ever triumphed over Hunter. She’d been Hunter’s girl all along, until that summer. When she threw him over for Troy. Or Hunter threw her over for Harvard. Or some combination of both.
“I imagine she’s as beautiful as ever.”
“Yeah,” he said, not trusting himself to say any more.
Mercy looked at him. “I remember the first time I saw her at the pool, she looked so … otherworldly, like something out of a story. Snow White in a pink bikini.”
“Yeah.” He remembered, too.
“I begged my mother for a bikini just like that one for years. But she refused. It was all one-piece racing tank suits for me.”
“And now?” He imagined she would look pretty good in a pink bikini. Maybe as good as Madeline.
“Now I hike in cargo pants.”
He nodded his approval as they approached the trailhead.
“Mine’s the red Jeep.” She pointed to the vehicle parked a couple of spaces beyond his Ford F-150. “I don’t have a car seat. Do you?”
“No. We’ll all have to go together in the truck.” Troy rearranged the stuff in his backseat to make room for her, the baby in her carrier, and the Malinois. All that hustle and bustle woke the baby up, and she started to fuss. Mercy rocked the carrier gently, murmuring a lullaby, while he settled in front with Susie Bear. He strained to hear the woman softly singing what sounded like “You’ve Got a Friend in Me” by Randy Newman. Toy Story. Sweet.
The medical center was only three miles down the road in Northshire—a ride just long enough for the baby to fall asleep again and just short enough that conversation was limited to the Fourth of July traffic. When they arrived, Mercy hurried out of the vehicle with the baby; Troy brought along the carrier. They left Elvis in the truck and Susie Bear outside tied to a tree. Just in case the dogs took a sudden disliking to one another in their absence.
Once inside the hospital, Mercy turned Baby Doe over to the ER nurse with reluctance. The baby cried for her, and she insisted on waiting close by while the doctor examined the infant.
Dr. Sharma was a young, confident physician with a faint Indian accent who cooed at the little girl as he gently examined her.
“Very odd to be finding a baby in the woods,” he said to them as he jiggled the baby’s fingers and toes. The baby laughed, a sweet little gurgling giggle that reminded Troy of his niece Charlotte, who was about the same age. “Especially one who apart from this disturbing incident is seeming well cared for.”
“That’s what I thought,” Mercy said.
“And you have no idea who the parents are, or why they are leaving her all alone?”
“No,” she said. “I mean, I don’t think so. We hike there most every morning, and we have seen hikers with babies from time to time, or at least heard them. But not today.”
“She seems to be all right,” said Dr. Sharma. “We will be treating the bites and making sure she is well hydrated. But we are running some tests to make sure she is as well nourished as she looks. We will be keeping her overnight for observation.” Mercy appeared as relieved as Troy was that the doctor had proclaimed the baby safe and relatively sound.
“What will happen to her after that?”
“We will be contacting Child Protective Services,” Dr. Sharma said. “If no one is coming forward to claim the child…” He shrugged.
“CPS. Right.” The way she said it made Troy believe her experience with that organization had not been good. She turned to Troy. “Here’s hoping that you find her family before that happens.”
“I’m sure law enforcement will do everything possible to track down her next of kin,” Troy said to both of them.
But unless someone had put out an AMBER Alert, odds were they wouldn’t know who the baby was until he found the mother himself. The holiday weekend meant law enforcement was out in force to protect and serve and keep the drunks off the roads and the trails and the waterways—himself included. “I really need to get back to the scene. And I’ll be keeping this.” He pointed to the baby’s yellow blanket by the carrier, which sat on a plastic chair in a corner of the examination room.
“Of course.” The doctor nodded.
“Thank you,” said Mercy, looking back at the baby before she walked away. Troy could tell she hated leaving the child here, no matter how nice Dr. Sharma was.
“We are taking good care of her,” said the doctor.
Troy wondered how many times a day he said that to comfort people, and how often it actually worked.
“Bye, baby,” Mercy said, and the little girl looked up and stared at her with those slate-blue eyes.
“Come on,” Troy said softly, touching her shoulder gently. He led Mercy down the corridor and out of the building.
Without a word, Mercy headed right for his truck. This time, she sat in front, and the dogs shared the backseat amicably. At least so far.
The quick ride was a quiet one. He didn’t want to push her; he’d save his questions for the scene. He wasn’t worried about her forgetting anything; she had all the earmarks of a former MP and he was betting that behind those startlingly blue eyes was a well-disciplined and analytical mind.
Still, this seemed like one of those times when he should say something reassuring, but he wasn’t sure what. What wouldn’t sound trite—the baby’s going to be fine—or lame—she’s in good hands—or even patronizing—you’ve done all you can.
Captain Thrasher would know what to say.
“Do you have any children?”
The question took him by surprise. Involuntarily he looked at the fourth finger of his left hand, curled around the steering wheel but still showing the faint circle of lighter skin left by the wedding ring he’d worn for nine years. He’d finally taken it off a couple of months ago after he caught Thrasher frowning at it one too many times. The removal made him feel like a quitter, even though he knew his marriage was, for all intents and purposes, over.
And kids were one of the reasons for that. He wanted them. His wife didn’t. Madeline preferred cats. Namely Tiffany, a moody Siamese who hated him, and proved it by clawing at him every time he moved within six inches of her.
Madeline threw a fit when he brought Susie Bear home. Dogs and kids are too much work, she told him. When she left, she took the cat with her.
“No,” he said to Mercy, careful to keep his eyes on the road. “No kids. Not yet.” That was the only good thing about his wife leaving. The possibility of children. Someday, with someone else. At least that’s what his mother kept telling him. She never much liked Madeline or her cat. “You?”
“Not yet,” repeated Mercy, and he could hear the catch in her voice.
“I have a niece about the same age as Baby Doe,” he told her. “My brother’s little girl. Charlotte. She’s a pistol.”
“My older brother has a little boy. Toby. He just turned two.” She turned toward him and smiled. “He’s just like my brother, hell on wheels, only shorter.” Her smile faded. “I’m just trying to imagine the circumstances under which his parents would leave him alone in the woods.”
“And?”
“All I can come up with is some kind of Hail Mary pass to save the child.” Mercy shrugged.
“And you caught it?”
“Maybe.”
Troy eased the truck into the parking lot at the trailhead. Nearly full now. The Fourth of July festivities were approaching full swing; there would be more people on the trail now. More people to muck up his crime scene.
“I taped off the scene,” she said, again as if she could read his mind. It was a little unnerving.
He nodded, and for the second time that day, he and Susie Bear took up the rear as she and Elvis led them back up the trail.
But this time they were going uphill, along the steep incline that rose along the boundary between the Lye Brook Wilderness and the Appalachian Trail, before veering off into wilderness proper. It was nearly noon, and the sun was nearly straight above their heads. Mercy wore a blue Boston Red Sox cap now, covering most of her hair and shading her eyes. She moved with the steady rhythm of an experienced hiker, slim hips and long legs evident even under the loose cargo pants she’d tucked into her high-topped brown hiking boots. Troy was enjoying the view.
She stopped about ten feet beyond where he’d found her and the baby, and pointed to the tape she’d attached to the long hanging branch of a tall maple.
“This is where Elvis took me off-trail.”
“Is it marked?”
“Yep.”
This time, Troy and Susie Bear led the way, following the broken twigs and human and canine tracks in the muddy ground. Apart from their own footfalls and the panting of the dogs as they scrambled up and down the rocky terrain, the only sounds were the rushing of Lye Brook, the birds chattering in the trees, and the occasional distant shout of a happy hiker.
“Is this it?” he asked when they came to a clearing marked by the same duct tape Mercy had used along the trail.
“Uh, no.”
“No?”
Mercy Carr stopped at the edge of the tape, and Elvis stopped, too, settling quietly at her feet. She removed her baseball cap and shook her head, red strands falling around her face. Her face shone with sweat, and she wiped her brow with the back of her hand.
“But you taped it off anyway. Why?” He looked at her with curiosity and waited for an answer. She didn’t strike him as an alarmist, so he figured she must have a good reason.
She sighed and put her cap back on. “Explosives.”